F Wilson - Deep as the Marrow

“Who is she?”

“Poppy Mulliner. She was picked up twice in New York about three years ago. Once each on shoplifting and solicitation. Suspended sentences on both. Stayed pretty clean since then.”

“Sure. She moved into kidnapping.” Bob had listened over and over to the tapes of this Poppy Mulliner’s calls to Vanduyne, and he’d found it difficult to reconcile the caring in her voice with someone who’d kidnap a child.

“Looks that way. I got her photo faxed down and we’re passing it out to everybody we’ve put on the boards. Unless she’s changed her style, I don’t think we’ll have any trouble spotting her. A real looker, but weird.”

“Great. Get one over to me here. Anything else?”

“We’re trying to scrape up more on her. One thing I can say about her is she’s pretty bad at keeping appointments.”

Bob glanced at his watch. “Yeah, I know. It’s three-ten and she hasn’t called.”

“You don’t think she’s just stringing this poor bastard along, do you?”

Poor bastard is right, Bob thought. Vanduyne must be going through hell on that boardwalk.

He imagined himself up there, hanging onto the phone, praying for it to ring…

He was glad he’d joined the Secret Service instead of the Bureau. He wasn’t cut out for kidnappings. He was getting emotionally involved.

“Somehow, I don’t think she is,” he told Canney. “You heard her on the tapes. She ripped off a drugstore to make sure Katie wouldn’t be without her medication. Someone who cares that much for that little girl isn’t going to torture her father.”

“Maybe she cares too much.”

Bob hadn’t considered that. “You mean she can’t let go?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Or maybe she spotted us. I’d hate to think we kept that man from getting his little girl back today.”

“We’re pretty well camouflaged. The DEA guys Dan set up for us are good at blending in.”

“Let’s hope so.” Another glance at his watch: 3:12.

Come on, lady. Call. Let that poor bastard off the hook.

12

Snake followed the panel truck as it turned left on Delaware and hit the White Horse Pike.

She’s leaving town, he thought. Perfect. The thinner the population, the easier this would be.

He hung back for a few miles until she turned into a McDonald’s in a town called Absecon. He pulled onto the shoulder across the highway and watched her get on the drive-thru line.

What do I do now?

His aching head crawled with questions and possibilities. Where was she headed? A motel? The tape could be in the truck now or back wherever she was staying. If she had a room somewhere, the best thing to do was follow her there and settle everything at once.

But what if she was heading back to D.C.? If she got on 95 and didn’t make another stop, he might not get another chance at her. This could be his last best shot at retrieving that tape.

But how do I work this?

And then Snake realized that the mother thing Poppy seemed to have with the package—the thing that had screwed up this whole gig—could be used to his advantage.

He watched a car pull up behind the panel truck. With another in front of her, she was locked in the drive-thru lane.

Now or never.

Snake pulled the Cobra from his sweatshirt pouch, hit the gas, swerved into the McDonald’s lot, and was already opening his door as he jerked to a stop. He leapt out, yanked open the truck’s passenger door, and grabbed the kid. In one move he clapped a hand over her mouth as she started to scream, and pressed the muzzle of the pistol against her head, careful that no one in the other cars could see.

Then he looked at Poppy who sat frozen at the wheel, eyes wide, mouth hanging open, gaping at him. She looked stupid.

Even the mild exertion had made his head pound harder, but Snake forced a grin.

“Surprise, bitch! I’m still around!”

Poppy’s mouth worked, but no sound emerged. She reached for the kid but Snake pulled her back.

“Don’t even think about it. Just give me the tape.”

“Tape?”

“Don’t fuck with me! I’ll blow her head off as soon as look at her. And you know it.”

“I-I don’t have it!” She wasn’t lying. Snake could see the terror in her eyes. She was damn near paralyzed with fear that he’d hurt the brat.

“Where the fuck is it?”

“I left it—” Her eyes seemed to unfocus, as if she was trying to remember.

“You got a room somewhere? You left it in some fucking motel room?” How could she be so goddamn stupid?

And then he realized she probably had no idea what was on the tape. The truck had no tape player. Where would she get a chance to listen to it?

“Yes,” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. “I left it…”

“Then we’re gonna go get it!” Snake said. He pocketed the pistol but kept a stranglehold on the kid. “You lead the way. Me and the kid’ll follow.”

“No!” she cried, reaching for her. “Please?‘

Snake yanked the kid out the door and carried her toward his Jeep. He glanced around—couldn’t see much with only one eye—to check if anyone was paying much attention. Probably looked like a family spat. One thing he knew for sure: Poppy wasn’t going to be calling the cops.

The Jeep door was open, the engine still running. As he lifted the kid to push her inside, a weight suddenly slammed against his back. A high, insane screech filled his ears as fingers reached around from behind, raking at his eyes, the good one and the bad one, yanking at the bandage.

Had to be Poppy—could only be Poppy—but it was like being mauled by some wild animal.

Snake shouted as bolts of pain spiked through his right eye socket. He forgot about the kid. Suddenly the most important thing in the universe was to get those fingers away from his eyes, from his head. And then something—a fist, an arm—whacked the right side of his head square on his sutured scalp wound. Not a powerful blow, but it might as well have been a sledgehammer.

The explosion of pain drove him to his knees, retching as the world rocked and spun.

Dimly through the roaring he heard a child crying, heard Poppy saying, “Come on, baby. I’ve got you,” then retreating footsteps.

She was getting away, but it was difficult for Snake to care. He had to cling to the pavement, fearing he’d tumble off the whirling earth if he let go.

13

Panting, trembling, more afraid than she’d ever been in her life, Poppy dropped Katie in the passenger seat, slammed the door, then ran around to the driver’s side. As soon as she got behind the wheel, she yanked it hard to the right, jumped the drive-thru curb, and roared out of the lot.

As she hit the highway she realized that maybe she should have taken the time to run over Mac and put him out of their lives for good.

Too late now. Just get away, go, put miles and miles between them.

Screw the seat belt—she hugged her sobbing, trembling Katie against her as she sped west along 30.

“We’re getting out of here, honey bunch. Don’t you worry about that man. We’re going someplace safe, Someplace where no one’ll ever bother us.” Jesus, that had been close!

Mac… here in A.C. How?

He wanted a tape! What tape? The only one she could think of was that cassette she’d tossed out in Maryland.

What could be on it that—?

Aw, who cared? The reality was that she couldn’t lead Mac to his tape, and that he’d do something hideous when he realized that.

She’d been paralyzed by the sight of that pistol against Katie’s head. And she’d almost died when he pulled her out of the truck and started dragging her away. She’d known right then if he got Katie into his Jeep, she’d never see her again.